


Cured from Gambling

by Maracuya



Series: The Seven Fandoms [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bets & Wagers, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:32:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maracuya/pseuds/Maracuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot, written for the San_San Comment Fic Meme on LJ. Warning for Sandor getting totally embarrassed. ;-P This was the prompt: "Unexpected lack of pubic hair. Or unexpected presence of it. Who is suprised and who cause the suprise is up to author."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cured from Gambling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snuhutek](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=snuhutek).



Sandor was swearing – aloud and even worse inwardly. If he had learned one thing today it was that he'd never, ever gamble with cocky Jaime Lannister again. The lion wasn't playing fair. They had both been with Tyrion at a Cyvasse tournament. Well, to accompany the Halfman had actually been the first strategical mistake.

There had been quite a few bets about the various contestants. At first, Sandor had even won some money by putting his stakes on the Dornish viper, and he had intended to buy the little bird a nice necklace or something. Of course, Jaime had supported his brother in the various rounds.

Littlefucker had been doing well, and so had the old Tyrell hag and the Targaryen's servant girl. In the end, however, the Imp and Prince Oberyn had been the only ones left. Jaime and Sandor had both already indulged in more wine than was good for them.

The elder Lannister brother had smirked in his typical way then and had announced: “Har! That's it now, Hound. My brother has already won the tournament.”

“Pfft! I may not be a fan of the Martell man personally, but I'm sure he can best your brother, cunning as he is.”

“Ok, Hound, but I bet on my brother. If I lose, what shall I do?”

Sandor had thought about it and had answered: “Oh, I know. If you lose you have to stay with Brienne and you'd have to watch her favourite romantic movies with her.”

The lion had turned white.

“What!? That would be “Ghost”, “Amélie”, “Titanic” and “Dirty Dancing”. Gods, no! You're cruel, Hound! Well, let's think of something nice for you then... oh, I know: if you lose your bet you have to go to the new waxing studio near our block and get your pubic hair removed.”

Sandor had swallowed then.

“Fuck, Jaime, you can't mean it. That's really too much.”

“What – the Hound turning craven? Har, you've really got a limp tail between your legs, I must say.”

Shit. Nobody would call him craven, Sandor had said to himself and had participated in the bet.

In the end, the two Lannister brothers had given each other a high-five and had been rolling on the floor with laughter at the prospect of what would happen to Sandor next.

And Sandor had sworn to himself that he'd never, ever gamble again. Moreover, he had been entertaining mental torture and killing scenarios for the two ever since.

Merciless as the lions had been, they had dragged him to the waxing studio right away. As Sandor knew that escape was impossible and shame a given anyway, he decided to get himself waxed completely. After all, it would look even more ridiculous if he only had his pubic hair removed, but his chest and lower legs looked still like a jungle.

Well. He had been in lots of humiliating situations in his life – but when the cosmetician had told him in a clipped, professional way to lie down arse naked and had started to smear the wax onto his body he was sure he wanted to sink into the ground. And things had reached another low point when the wax had been ripped off his skin. Fuck, he had endured so many wounds and had barely ever groaned – but the shrieks that suddenly left his half-burned mouth in that moment would make sure that the lions (who were waiting next door and eavesdropping for sure) would tease him about this for the end of their sodding existence.

And now, he had finally left the waxing studio (and the blasted lions, who had nearly been pissing themselves while guffawing at him), feeling sore all over and somehow helpless like a new-born babe. The way his clothes moved over his skin without meeting any resistance felt so weird. Horrible. And his balls told him they were on fire – just not from arousal. Actually, Sandor felt so ashamed that his cock was rather retreating into his body.

Panic was surging through his veins.

What would Sansa say to that?

He opened the door to their flat and threw himself onto his sofa after having grabbed a sixpack of Winterfell draught beer, a plate of chicken nuggets and potato salad. However, he found he wasn't really hungry. Unnerved, he flipped through the TV channels and came across a commercial for shavers for women, and various beautiful graces were waving up and down their smooth-skinned legs. Sandor's own legs twitched involuntarily, and he cursed.

Just at that moment, the front door opened and closed shut again. Sansa had come home and was humming to herself.

“Sandor, love, I'm baaaahaaack! And I've bought us some nice things at the wholefood supermarket. No need to panic, I've got some organic sausages for you, not just vegetables, and I've found your favourite hot Dornish salsa as well.”

“Hmhmm...” Sandor rumbled and felt queasier by the minute.

Suddenly, Sansa's head appeared in the door frame. She had smelled at once that something wasn't in order.

“Love, what is it?” she wanted to know, obviously worried.

Sandor rasped back: “We won't have sex for the next six weeks, and the bathroom is a taboo zone for you once I'm inside. Oh, and do you remember where the long-sleeved pyjama is you gave me for my last nameday?”

Sansa's eyes had gone wide now.

“Sandor! Gods, tell me what...”

“NO, for fuck's sake.”

His little bird cocked her head and eyed him. Damn.

“Sandor, what has happened to your forearm? Where's your...”

“DON'T. ASK.”

Hurriedly, he pulled down the sleeve of his sweater, so that the treacherous smooth skin wasn't exposed any more.

It didn't help; Sansa put her hands on her hips and stated: “All right. I know you were hanging around with the Lannisters today. If you don't want to tell me, perhaps I should phone...”

“Seven flaming hells of shit! You will NOT do that!” Sandor exploded in his best, fearsome houndish snarl.

Sansa wasn't fazed at all.

“Either you tell me – or they will.”

Sandor knew he had lost.

Fuckfuckfuck.

Angrily, he tossed out the words Sansa needed to hear.

The little bird's wing flew to her mouth, and at some point, she clearly had to suppress a giggle.

“Don't you dare laugh at me!” Sandor threatened her then.

Desperately trying to stifle her laughter Sansa answered: “Well. At least now you understand what millions of women are enduring every month in order to look good for their men. And with regard to you – the maiden fair now wants to lick some honey off the hairless bear. And honey is also soothing for inflamed skin. Come.”

An hour later, Sandor had come to the conclusion that he still hated hairless skin – but it did have at least some merits when it came to the combination of food and f... lovemaking...

**Author's Note:**

> More wonderful prompts and fills here: http://sansa-sandor.livejournal.com/266810.html . New members, readers, commenters and writers welcome! :-)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own ASOIAF. I do not profit from this story, nor would I  
> ever seek to do so. All credit for characters and setting to GRRM.


End file.
